Tiny The Tree

The letter from the chamber of commerce appeared in my mailbox on a
Tuesday. The community-minded organization was donating a tree to the
school for planting on Arbor Day. It wanted to encourage interest in
the environment, and where else to start but in the schools?

I wondered why the letter was placed in my box-perhaps all the
teachers had one. I checked. They didn't.

"I thought you would like to have it," explained the principal.
"You're into environmental things, aren't you?" I'd thought everyone
was supposed to be, but I could see he had fitted me into this
particular slot for convenience.

"That's fine," I said. I knew he always liked that answer, meaning,
"Yes, I'll do it, and you don't have to think about it anymore."

The letter said the chamber would soon send a tree-planting kit. I
couldn't do much until it came, but I thought I could at least try to
make the event a real "learning experience" for the children in my 4th
grade class.

I told them about Arbor Day and the importance of planting trees. We
went outside and examined trees. We drew different kinds of trees, both
real and imagined. Scott drew a money tree. Jennifer drew something
that looked like a boot with leaves growing out of it.

"That's not a tree," said James. "Trust a girl."

"It is so!" The top half of Jennifer's body bent toward him at a
right angle, and she stuck her tongue out. "It's a shoe tree."

I took advantage of the "teachable moment" to discuss word meanings
and how interesting they could be. "It's still not a tree," said
James.

I contacted the water, gas, and electric companies to make sure our
spades wouldn't strike something dangerous when we planted our tree. In
class, we made a map of the school yard-the grassy part-and marked the
places to avoid. Robert showed a lot of interest in the positions of
the gas lines. "Does that mean I could dig there and have an
explosion?" he asked.

"That could happen," I replied. "It would be very dangerous. I hope
you won't think of doing anything like that."

I could see that was just what he was thinking. I know Robert.

"We could put it in front of the washroom door so no one could see
in when the door opened," suggested Mark.

"That's stupid," said Cathy. "You could climb up it then and look
through the window."

"We can be polite as we offer our suggestions," I said
hopefully.

Finally it was decided to plant the tree by the school's junior
wing, near our classroom, so that there would be shade in the summer
when we wanted to go outside to read. "You have to realize that you may
not see it grow that tall," I said. "It's probably only a sapling right
now, and it will take a few years to grow." This didn't seem to disturb
anyone very much. Summer seemed a long way away.

I was a little anxious because the tree hadn't yet arrived. And
Arbor Day was fast approaching. Mary and Karen had made up a little
notice to read over the public-address system to explain what we would
be doing and why, so that, as in all such projects, the "whole school"
could be "involved." Robert and Jeremy had made up a tree rap that they
wanted to say as we planted it. They practiced a lot, especially during
math.

Trees are for the earth, and earth is for the tree.
Trees are for us all for everyone, you and me.
Trees are for our life, man, so as you can see
Plant a living tree, man, let the trees be.

The rhythm was a bit off, but no one minded. Jennifer said they
should put something about women and children in there, but Jeremy said
it was always "man" in raps, and anyway it was his poem and not
hers.

The question of who should actually plant the tree was a tricky one,
and various solutions were offered.

"Each person should hold the spade and dig a bit," said
Jennifer.

"That's a good idea," I said. "I like the way you want to share,
Jennifer."

"She just doesn't want to do all the work," said Robert.

I could see that the task would soon turn into a burden rather than
a privilege. "It's special work," I said quickly. "We're helping the
environment."

"Put all the names in a hat and choose," said Tammy.

Most of the kids had tired of the topic by this time, so this
suggestion was accepted by default. Amanda, Jennifer, and David were
chosen. "We'll get three spades from the storeroom, and you can each
dig part of the hole," I said. "We can all help press the earth down
around the tree when it's in. Then we'll water it well to give it a
good start."

As I drove to work a few days before Arbor Day, I started working
out what I would say to the class if the tree did not arrive in time. I
thought of digging up one of the maple seedlings from my garden for
them to plant instead. As a last resort, I could buy a tree from a
local nursery. I'd speak to the chamber of commerce later.

I asked the secretary to watch out for the delivery. A day or two
later, she knocked at my door. "I think this is for you," she said. She
looked amazingly cheerful for a Thursday morning, until I realized she
was trying to hold back a laugh. My stomach turned a little, but I
thought it was probably the staff-room coffee and told myself to stop
worrying. She held out an envelope that had a small bulge. I took it
from her quickly, thanked her, and closed the door. I think she wanted
to stay, but I wasn't going to let her or anyone else, especially the
students, know what I felt as I looked into the envelope.

I put it on the desk and turned back to the class. They were
watching my every move carefully. They always sense when you're trying
to hide something. "Let's hear your news, Amanda," I said. It was time
for current events, and I knew Amanda had brought hers this morning.
She walked up to the front.

"My mom helped me," she said. She held up the news clipping and read
the headline: "Rapist Charged in Child Assault." The class was all
ears. They knew about rapists. Their choices of news topics seemed to
favor either sex crimes or disasters involving multiple deaths. Despite
my efforts to direct them to other topics, these two continued to
consume their attention.

At least they had forgotten the envelope. As Amanda finished and
John came forward to read his news about massacres in Africa, I put the
envelope on my lap below the desk top and looked inside. My worst fears
were confirmed. Struggling to keep itself from expiring completely was
a seedling with two tiny leaves sprouting at the top of a woody stem.
It was about five centimeters long and had a few straggly roots
clinging to crumbs of earth. It was, or was trying to be, the tree. I
took out the single sheet of paper that came with it. There was no
mention of the species, and the leaves were too small to properly
identify it. There were only a few general directions as to how to
plant trees and a long paragraph about the importance of the chamber of
commerce in the community. This, I assumed, was the kit.

John finished his news. I thought we would go on to begin our work,
and I would deal with Arbor Day later, but Jeremy had other ideas.

"What about the tree?" he asked. "Has it come? My mom wants to come
to see us plant it tomorrow."

I had, in a rush of enthusiasm, suggested that parents could come to
the ceremony. I hadn't expected anyone to turn up, but it was "policy"
to include parents in special events.

"The tree?" I said, as if that was furthest from my mind. "Oh, yes.
Thank you for reminding me, Jeremy." I held up the envelope. "Well, as
you all know, trees can come from very small things. A tiny acorn can
be the start of a huge oak tree. A handful of seeds can be the
beginning of a great forest. And I have, in this envelope, the seedling
that will become a huge tree when you too are grown up and spreading
your branches." We hadn't done too much on metaphors, but I hoped they
would get the gist.

"We don't have branches," said Jeremy.

"It's just an interesting use of words," I said. "Ask your mom about
it, Jeremy."

"Is it in the envelope?" asked Amanda. Everyone leaned forward. Some
stood up. Robert moved out of his seat toward me.

"Sit down, everyone, so we can all see," I said. "I have to be
careful because this tiny seedling is very fragile. I don't want to
damage it."

The kids made various remarks about the physical characteristics of
the plant; some suggested high-powered instruments were required to see
it. I had to use all my skills of duplicity to convince them that what
we had was nothing unexpected, that there was no reason to be surprised
at the size of the tree, and that it deserved all the care and
attention we would have given to something larger-perhaps more.

However, I realized that we could not plant it outside. The first
time the custodian mowed the grass, it would be mowed, too.

"We'll plant it in the worm bin," I said, after we had all had a
good look. "Just like putting a baby in a nursery. Then, when it has
grown bigger, we will plant it outside just as we planned." The worm
bin was a large plastic tub that was once home to red wigglers. It was
full of rich earth fertilized by whatever it is that worms do to
fertilize soil. "We can still have a little ceremony because it is
still Arbor Day, and people all over the country are planting trees,
too."

"Not in worm bins," said Robert.

For the rest of the day, the "tree" stayed in a glass jar of water
on my desk.

"I think we should give it a name," said Amanda.

"How about Tiny?" said Mark.

The next day, we held the ceremony-after Amanda had read news about
a serial killer. We used a trowel to dig a hole in the worm-enriched
soil. The tree looked quite perky in its new surroundings.

Tiny, as it was known, became an active class member, taking part in
all kinds of activities. Its growth was recorded daily. When the leaves
grew larger, we were able to identify it as a mountain ash. Students
took turns writing in Tiny's diary, "A Day in My Life."

Amanda cried when Jeremy wrote, "Amanda breathed on me too much,"
but I said that we have to let people express their thoughts, and
perhaps she did lean too far over the bin. It was like losing a friend
when we eventually planted Tiny outside.

"I'll come back and sit under it when I'm old," said Jennifer.

Robert asked me if I thought I would be around when it was
completely grown--on Earth, that is. I said I'd enjoy sitting under it
in my wheelchair.

"I could bring you a drink," he said.

Anne Spencer, a free-lance writer, taught for 30 years in four
countries. She lives in Victoria, British Columbia.

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